Poem by Robert Herrick

A Ring Presented to Julia

Julia, I bring
To thee this Ring.
Made for thy finger fit;
To shew by this,
That our love is
(Or sho'd be) like to it.

Close though it be,
The joynt is free:
So when Love's yoke is on,
It must not gall,
Or fret at all
With hard oppression.

But it must play
Still either way;
And be, too, such a yoke,
As not too wide,
To over-slide;
Or be so strait to choak.

So we, who beare,
The beame, must reare
Our selves to such a height:
As that the stay
Of either may
Create the burden light.

And as this round
Is no where found
To flaw, or else to sever:
So let our love
As endless prove;
And pure as Gold for ever. 

1. To Sapho
2. His Teares to Thamasis
3. On Himself (Lost to the world; lost to myself)
4. Upon Julia's Ribbon
5. The Rock of Rubies, and the Quarry of Pearls

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